


Morning-star

by KareliaSweet



Series: Morning-star [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal is the devil, Heaven, Hell, It's a bit silly, LITERALLY, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, but true love wins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from <a href="http://measure-of-a-man.tumblr.com/">measure-of-a-man</a>:<br/><i>So I had this idea-what if Hannibal actually IS Lucifer,he just got bored in Hell and is chilling on Earth,appreciating art and cannibalizing people;so when Will finally dies (in whatever way), he just finds himself in Hell as a King alongside Hannibal and basically they are together forever and no one is fucking leaving no one and my heart is in one piece yay</i></p><p>Inspired <b>very</b> loosely by Lucifer Morningstar from the Sandman comic series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning-star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [measure_of_a_man](https://archiveofourown.org/users/measure_of_a_man/gifts).



“It’s beautiful,” Will says, and he means it.

He leans into the salt air and pulls, they fall with grace and without sound.

As he clings to Hannibal’s chest, breathing the last embrace he will ever know, he realizes a terrible and unavoidable truth.

This is where he is meant to be. And he does not want to stop being.

With the clarity comes panic. He needs the roaring air to stop, he needs the inexorable pull of gravity to cease. He needs to look into Hannibal’s eyes and make absurd proclamations. He needs to stay.

He gets his first wish. The roar stops as he hits stone, rebounding thick and heavy. The air leaves his lungs and does not return. Hannibal has been pulled from him upon impact, he sees a shadow on the water. Above it, the illumination of a single bright star.

It’s the last thing Will sees, his eyes remaining open as all else fades to black.

-x-

Light surrounds him. Will is filled with an overwhelming peace, almost cloying in how it encompasses him. He is clean, and unwounded. He cannot feel walls around him, or a floor beneath.

“Hello?” he calls out, and his voice soaks velvet-soft into the light.

A woman appears before him. She has sleek dark hair and a rueful grin. She looks calm. She looks happy. Will feels his heart stumble. He knows that smile.

“Beverly,” he whispers, “I’m dead.”

It is a rude introduction, but Will is unfamiliar with the protocols of the afterlife and Beverly seems to take it in stride.

“Yep,” she grins, “Good job on your exit, by the way. Got you instant access to the top floor. I had to get sliced up lengthwise to manage that kind of security clearance.”

Will frowns, bewildered by both her terminology and the cavalier attitude towards her own gruesome end.

“What do you mean?”

“You killed the Tooth Fairy _and_ The Ripper. Knocked out two Big Bads with one blow. Folks upstairs are impressed.”

“Hannibal’s… dead?”

“Yeah. Well. As dead as he can be.” Beverly winces slightly. “We’ll get to that later.”

White noise rushes through Will and the peaceful feeling that had wrapped around him when he entered begins to tighten like a noose. Wherever he is, this is not what he wants. This forced and unpleasant happiness does not sit well within him. He has the urge to throw up. He wonders if he even can.

“Beverly, where am I?”

She snorts lightly. “I’d have thought that was obvious.” She shakes her head then. “Sorry, I should remember there’s an adjustment period for new intakes, but you’re smarter than the average bear –  I kind of figured you could fill in the blanks.”

“I’m trying,” Will says, “but is this – are we really in -”

“Almost. You’re in The Waiting Room. I just have to fill out your paperwork and then we can, y’know, pearly gates and shit.”

At her last word there is a low and distant rumble, Beverly sighs.

“Language, I know, _sorry_ ,” she says to the void around them.

“Okay,” she continues, “let’s get this out of the way then.”

A clipboard and pen materialize in her hands. Will finds himself sitting in rigid plastic-backed chair, but he doesn’t recall sitting, or the desk that is now between them.

“First off,” Beverly says, tongue stuck out against her upper lip, “how do you feel?”

“How do I – about _what_?”

“Not about anything, just… how do you feel?”

Will shrugs, irritation scratching beneath his surface. “Trapped.”

Beverly’s brow knits itself into a small frown. “O-kay. Well, you’re new, so… adjustment period.” She scribbles a small note and looks back up. “Why did you kill Francis Dolarhyde?”

“Because he was a bad man,” Will says easily, and he knows that although it is true, for him it is a lie.

Beverly makes a check mark and nods. “Good. And why did you kill Hannibal Lecter?”

“Because I-” Will isn’t sure if he still has the capability to cry, but he feels the phantom sting of tears and he looks away. “Can’t you just read my mind?”

“That’s not how it works. Free will, you know. Heh. Free Will.” She snorts and smiles up at Will and he does not return it. She leans across the desk between them, kind but firm.

“Will,” she says softly, “I know this is confusing, but you’re so close to-”

The light around them flickers for an instant and Beverly jerks her chin up sharply.

“I’m almost done here, what are you – no – _no_ – he can’t just-”

She looks back at Will apologetically. “Sorry, there’s been an interruption from… another department.”

She turns her face back up to the unheard end of her conversation. “Listen, he’s up here already, we don’t issue guest passes for-” Suddenly her eyes narrow and her face darkens.

“WHAT?”

She smacks the clipboard to the table and shakes her head.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

There is a warning rumble at her words and she gesticulates to the air around me.

“Well if you didn’t want language you probably shouldn’t have picked me to do his FUCKING PAPERWORK!”

The noise grows loud enough to split the air and Beverly raises her palms in submission.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

The room quietens again and Beverly casts her eyes to the floor, kicking at invisible dirt and muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

Will laughs lightly and for the first time they share an honest smile, but it fades quickly. Beverly is clearly displeased.

“So, your presence has been requested downstairs,” she says, her tone laced with sarcastic formality.

“Downstairs?” Will arches a brow.

“Yeah. He just wants to meet you. Apparently some of his decisions don’t get an override. For whatever fucking reason,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “Go on, thunderstorm me again boss, you know this is bullshit as much as I do.”

Silence. Beverly ducks her head in a triumphant nod.

“You can come right back,” she insists, and it’s almost pleading, “you _can_. He can’t keep you there. Just – remember that, Will.”

The room begins to darken around them and Will watches Beverly’s face begin to fade away.

“Hey,” she says as her features soften and dissipate, “tell him I said hi.” She raises a stalwart middle finger on the last word, and she is gone.

Will feels himself fall, plummeting weightless into something that beckons in tenebrous shadow. He reaches his fingers out in the darkness sweeping through him, and it begins to curl around him like an animal. The peaceful sensation has lifted from his chest, and he feels blissfully unweighed by it.

The fall stops, his feet touch ground, and for the first time since he has died, Will feels safe.

He hears a click and a soft glow begins to spread throughout the darkness. The light curves itself slowly around a Moulin noir armchair, illuminating its occupant, who raises hooded eyes to smile up at him.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal says softly.

Will isn’t dead, he decides. He can’t be, faced with this, because he felt his heart stop beating and now it is popping its seams at the sight of the man before him. He opens his mouth to speak, but finds himself falling to his knees. Not in supplication, but in weeping relief.

“You’re alive,” Will chokes out.

“No,” Hannibal responds, “and yes. I find myself unable to adhere to either state for too long.”

The room shifts, the light curves and curls and begins to form shapes around them. Will watches the shadows cast over Hannibal’s face and sees a great monstrous set of antlers pass behind him.

Suddenly the pieces fall sharply into place, and despite the absurdity of it all Will wonders how he could ever have been so blind.

“Of course,” he says, “of _course_ you are.”

Hannibal smiles, and shifts his head in a slight nod.

“I am,” he says, “and I have an offer for you.”

-x-

“I have a lot of questions.”

“As I’m sure you do. Luckily, time is indefinitely at our disposal.”

Will isn’t sure if they’ve been sitting in silence for a decade or a millisecond, but the sight of the man before him has always been enough for him to forget time. He realizes that he can no longer call him a man and shakes his head softly in wonder.

“When you talked about God dropping church roofs…”

“First-hand information. We have pleasant conversations from time to time.”

Will bites out a short laugh. “Of course you do.” He studies the face before him, so unmistakably human but clearly not. Confusion roils through him. “Have you always been-”

“No. I was born mortal, but when the previous caretaker sought a successor I was found to be an excellent candidate. Unlike him, I have no intention of ever relinquishing this position. I do, however, enjoy taking respites to indulge in more earthly pleasures.”

Will arches a brow. “I’m not sure if I want to know your definition of earthly pleasures.”

“My job can grow tiresome. I crave art and beauty, and the mortal world is resplendent with it.”

Hannibal looks Will up and down shamelessly at this, and Will feels the full weight of resplendence upon him.

“So,” Will asks, “what is the offer you have for me?”

Hannibal smiles wide and settles into his chair.

“What most my subjects are unaware of is that their presence here is a choice. Any one of them could leave if they so desire, but they have made the choice to damn themselves, and so they are here.”

Hannibal pauses and smirks slightly to himself. “Of course I do have _some_ control over admittance to my domain,” he adds, “why do you think Frederick Chilton has never managed to die?”

Will can’t help but laugh. “And my offer?”

“Choice,” Hannibal replies. “I offer you the freedom of choice, Will. You can choose to stay in Heaven, in the harmonious peace that I know already makes you itch with discomfort.”

“Stop reading my mind,” Will huffs indignantly.

“I’m not,” Hannibal replies. “I don’t have to.”

Will swallows quietly and Hannibal presses on.

“That is one choice. Or you can choose to stay here, with me, and rule by my side. You will want for nothing. We will visit Earth from time to time, as I did before. I can show you Florence.” He crosses a leg and steeples his fingers together in consideration. “Perhaps we can stop and say hello to Bedelia du Maurier.”

The proposal sends a thrilling rush through Will that alarms and delights him, and he wonders how on earth he ever made it up to Heaven to begin with. Hannibal is smiling at him, he looks almost impossibly happy and Will finds himself searching for the hidden end of his Faustian bargain.

“If accept your offer, what are the consequences?”

Hannibal quirks a brow questioningly, looking honestly perplexed. “How do you mean?”

“I’m literally making a deal with the devil, there has to be a catch.”

Hannibal’s eyes are deep and earnest. “No catch, Will. We would be together, and I would give you everything within my power.” His voice drops to a silken purr, “and I have a lot of power.”

Whatever heart Will has left hammers a staccato within his chest at the promises laced within.

“If I say no?” he asks, more teasing than threatening. A shadow passes over Hannibal’s face.

“You return upstairs. You will never see me again.”

“Being freed from your influence has its charms.” Will says honestly, “would I be truly free?”

“Yes,” Hannibal says quietly, and Will can see the pain there. He knows it would be infinitely permanent. The notion fills Will with equal relief and panic.

“Why, Hannibal? Why this? Why me?”

Hannibal shakes his head in reprimand. “I needn’t dignify that with a response, Will. You knew the answer long before you asked the question.”

And he does, Will knows it as sure as he knows the own ache he feels in kind. It seems almost insulting to ignore Hannibal’s love now, it shines dark from within him like a dying star that refuses to extinguish.

“‘Til death do us part,” Will murmurs to himself.

“Death has already parted us,” Hannibal replies, “failed to do so. What I am asking of you – _offering_ you, Will – is eternity.”

Will feels the tide rising against and within him, and he knows he is battling something that he has long since tired of fighting. He laughs despite himself.

“I spent so much of my life trying to escape you, and now you want me to give you eternity.”

“No, Will. I want you to choose it.”

“It’s impossible to even fully grasp the concept.”

“I can help.” Hannibal steps into him, taking Will into a loose embrace, a wide and flat palm steady against his back.

“May I show you?” he asks, and Will blinks out a nod, his throat suddenly dry. Hannibal presses the heel of his free hand against Will’s forehead and his eyes flicker shut.

The screams are a symphony.

They are bestial, mad and glorious. Blood is written upon them in reams, a liquid parchment, the sheets soaked through. Wicked voices cry out for mercy and are refused it, banished to bones and dust beneath their feet. Destruction falls under their hands, their joined hands, and in the coiling mass of wrath that is their union, Will sees painful and irrefutable beauty.

He see them entwined, growling and biting, fingers painting deep swatches of scarlet against each other’s skin. He is inside Hannibal. Hannibal is inside him. They roar out as one in violent ecstasy, marking and claiming and binding themselves with passion and rage. There is madness there, so thick he can taste it, but beneath it all is a deep immovable love, unrelenting in its force.

Will breaks from the touch, heaving sharp and brittle breaths. It is so much. It is too much. Fear settles over him like a fine sheen of sweat.

Of the visions laid before him, it is not the horrors that frighten him the most.

It is the unshakeable knowledge that only _half_ of that crippling, enraging love belonged to Hannibal. The other half is proudly, defiantly Will’s. The current between them is unforgiving in its reciprocation. It has always been.

Will opens his eyes.

He is dead now. He has no choices left, and in that, he has every choice. Everything he longed for within the secrets of his own mind now presents itself to him, open and without catch. What had withered inside of him in life now flourishes in death. His love exists, with or without eternity to tend it, and he knows it is foolish to try and tear it from its roots now.

It exists. They will always exist.

_He who holds the devil, let him hold him well._

He looks up at Hannibal, beautiful, terrible Hannibal, who will rip him from the heavens before relinquishing his claim.

“Yes,” Will says, “I accept.”

Hannibal kisses him then, like a man, the sensation is entirely human and blissfully welcome. Will bends to him, and with each turn and slant of their mouths they find a new sweetness. If this is hell, Will thinks, let him burn bright as the Morning Star.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Ina for the prompt - I hope you like where I took this, I have more places I'd like it to go... sequel, anyone?
> 
> more of my shenanigans at [lovecrimevariations](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com)


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